Moments of Silence
by Aine Deande
Summary: Hannibal Lecter reflects on his feelings as he takes care of Clarice Starling in her state of unconsciousness after the Verger estate incident. Short, romantic vignette.


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Moments of Silence

by Áine Déande

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Summary: A short story, reflecting on the time Hannibal Lecter takes care of Clarice Starling in her state of unconsciousness after the Verger estate incident. Romantic vignette.

Timeline: During the Hannibal novel; follows canon.

Rating: PG

Copy: 1 of 1 

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Side note: Bear with me. This was my first try at Lecter fanfiction. I am posting my old works here at ff.net for all of you who will not have read any of it yet. And *sheepishly* because I am stuck on my recent co-written story. I'm sure that will work itself out in time, however. This one's another 'sleeping' montage, taking place at night. I hope you will like it. Feedback is greatly appreciated.

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He watches her.

Silently as she sleeps, sitting still as part of the atmosphere, but his eyes constantly moving, like a cobra he watches. He watches her every movement: he knows, when she sighs, why she sighs, and he knows when she shivers, why she shivers. He knows it is her lambs, taunting her, torturing her.

And he watches her endlessly, until the calm returns to her frowned forehead, her muscles ease, and she is asleep in peace again.

He stands up and nears her, silently still, stroking a loose hair from her forehead, drops of sweat shining invitingly up to him, her lips parted slightly in her sleep and her one hand resting on top of her chest, and he feels his mouth go dry. 

He wants to... oh, he so wants...

What _does_ he want?

Dr. Hannibal Lecter moves to Clarice Starling's left side and checks her pulse, his tender fingers closing around her waist and feeling, exploring, there where her heartbeat is. Slow, calm, endlessly captivating. He could stand there night after night, listening to her heart and time would never move on. Nor would he wish it to.

He is beginning to question his motives, as of late... ever since he has brought little Starling to this place, while the ocean waves compose their only music and the set for his ultimate play become another man's home. Little unconscious Starling, her form numbed by the drugs, her pain stilled by the medication Dr. Lecter has provided her. 

And now, the only remaining question in his mind remains... _why_?

He cannot keep her here. He knows he cannot. Clarice Starling is not yet ready to be unplugged from her ideals, her life dreams, her tedious principles and ludicrous excuse for a life. She could have been by his side already, if he had thought her to be ready, but she isn't. Too focused still on bringing justice to the world, to herself, not realizing the world she is fighting for is the only thing holding her down, and preventing her from flying.

She could fly, he knows... fly away, and he could watch her, from a distance, admiring her beauty and let her have her dreams, as long as he could keep his.

But as of late, his feelings towards this young, once hustling rube have... changed.

Hannibal Lecter does not know how to feel about this new discovery. He tries not to let his mind wander when holding her foot in his hands in the semi-dark, his eyes always on her sleeping face. 

He tries not to think about those lips, how they would feel against his, what release they would bring, to her, to him He tries not to think about her penetrating blue eyes, how, as they slowly open, look at him and how she would see him then, see him now, as he has saved her in every way that she has saved him.

Dr. Lecter has tried so very hard not to, and his face remains expressionless when watching her now, the darkness of the night his only cover. But his heart races, and his eyes take in every breath, every shadow on her face with the light of the moon falling through the open window, every ripple in her forehead and every, every moment of the time he holds her hand, and feels her heartbeat, over and over again.

She will soon wake up, he knows. The medication will have worn off and Clarice will open her eyes to him. And probably for the first time in his adult life, Hannibal Lecter has no idea how she, or he, will react to that event. What she will become to him, or even, what he might become to her.

Will they become... intimate? Close? Even... lovers? And does he even want to think about the level of excitement the mere thought brings him, as though seeing the sun again for the first time in eight years, the way he had felt when he had escaped the Memphis prison and smelled the air again, tasted freedom under his tongue and in his nose and every fiber, free at last.

Will she be his final revelation... will Clarice Starling give him back his ultimate freedom? But if she will, if she can bind herself to him this effortlessly, simply by... lying there, simply by having her heart beat under his fingertips... then what will she mean to him, when those deep red lips meet his for the very first time?

Hannibal Lecter fears the thought of becoming a prisoner once again... but still, he doesn't turn. 

He doesn't turn, and he doesn't blink, and he stands there throughout the night, another night, holding in his hands her hand, holding with her eyes her motionless frame, holding with his heart this precious moment.

Time will stir again and move forward, as it always will... no matter his calculation, no matter his wishful thinking. But this time, Dr. Lecter will move ahead... and carry her with him, in him, this heavenly creature to have crossed his path another lifetime ago, in the dark Baltimore State Hospital dungeon.

He will watch Starling fly, once she does, and relish in it. As he relishes holding her feet and listening to her breathing. One day in the light she will radiate to him what has already invaded his heart and soul, and he will breathe and smell and taste the power that is her, over and over again. He will taste her, he knows. He knows everything. 

But he doesn't know her. Even if he knows why Clarice -- oh, that name, that _name _-- does the things she does, what drives her, what compels her and makes her look, he shan't know her heart even once he does know what it is she is feeling, what she is experiencing, and how this has to affect her.

He knows _why_ her lambs screamed, but he has never heard them.

But what he does hear, and can, is her heart. 

And what he does hear, and can, is his own, still racing. Still hers. Always hers.

Hannibal Lecter blinks and checks his watch. Five a.m. Soon the sun will rise, the morning will come and then, maybe, Clarice Starling will awake. A smile creeps onto his features, though it might have been there already. Much to do, much to prepare. Much to do, indeed.

__

Oh Clarice, he thinks, as he brushes a last strayed hair from her face and brings her hand, still resting in his, to his lips. _If only you could taste your own exquisiteness, as I once will. My darling, can't you see how you shine, and how I am powerless before you, even as you sleep so peacefully in my willing home?_

__

Don't you know how you *are* my home, my heaven, my heart, my Dearest? Hannibal places her hand in his mouth and bites it softly, harder, then softly again. He can almost taste her -- almost. 

__

But don't worry - you soon will. 

He leaves the room then, but leaves his heart beating in the space he's just walked out of -- in the space between her breasts, the space her one hand covers, his heartbeat in time with hers.

Clarice Starling turns and opens her eyes.

_Fin_


End file.
